Hector Macneill Poems

He's gane! - he's gane! - ah! welladay!
The spirit's flown that warm'd the clay!
The light has fled that cheer'd the way
Through lear's mirk page;
Fir'd the young breast wi' fancy's ray,
And charm'd the sage!
...

'Whare hae ye been a' day,
My boy, Tammy?
Whare hae ye been a' day,
My boy, Tammy?'
...

Blest by the song! (a bard, though humble, cries),
That moves by Pity's power th' infuriate breast;
Lures Mercy beaming from her native skies
To soften rage, and shelter the oppress'd;
And guide to Peace, where Concord, warm caress'd
...

I loo'd ne'er a laddie but ane,
He loo'd ne'er a lassie but me;
He's willing to mak me his ain,
And his ain I am willing to be.
...

'Saw ye my wee thing? saw ye mine ain thing?
Saw ye my true love down on yon lea?
Cross'd she the meadow yestreen at the gloaming?
Sought she the burnie whar flow'rs the haw tree?
...

While strains like these beguile a wand'rer's care,
And fancy's smile unfetters fortune's frown,
Oft will reflection doubt with anxious air
If e'er one sprig this wand'rer's head shall crown.
...

Tost rudely round this whirling sphere,
Estrang'd from all he valued dear;
Shut out from beauty's bright'ning ray;
The social night, the tranquil day;
Involv'd in tumults wild uproar,
...

You're now, Eliza, fix'd for life;
In other words, you're now - a wife;
And let me whisper in your ear,
A wife, though fix'd, has cause to fear;
For much she risks, and much she loses
...

In spite of all that poets tell us
(For poets are but lying fellows)
Of Cupid's flames, and Cupid's darts,
And all his soft bewitching arts,
That teach the stubborn heart to move,
...

This warld is a lottery, as ilk ane may ken;
There are prizes for women as weel as for men:
But as far as my faither and mither can see,
Though the're prizes for some, there aye blanks for me!
...